“Eleanor,” Jemma’s voice warmed considerably. “How wonderful you could make it. I was just telling Hudson how much we’re looking forward to tomorrow’s dinner.”
Eleanor? As in...
“Eleanor Trolio,” Hudson murmured near my ear, confirming my suspicion. “Editor-in-chief of Modern Wedding.”
Oh. My. God.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled under my breath.
The champagne turned sour in my stomach as the editor of the most prestigious wedding publication in the country joined our circle. Her gaze assessed me briefly before dismissing me entirely, focusing on Hudson with undisguised interest.
“Hudson, darling, the execution is even more impressive than I expected. You’ve brought such vision to this event.”
Vision? My vision, actually. But before I could open my mouth to introduce myself, Jemma Gable spoke again.
“Eleanor, this is Ms. Landry. She assisted Hudson with some of the technical aspects of today’s event.”
Assisted? What the hell?
Hudson’s hand dropped from my back as he reached to shake Mrs. Trolio’s hand. I glanced at him, expecting him to correct his mother. He remained silent.
When he didn’t, I cleared my throat and held out my hand.
“Co-planner, actually. Hudson and I are equal partners on this project.”
Mrs. Trolio’s handshake was brief. “Hudson has mentioned you were involved. How refreshing to have some... youthful energy in the process.”
Youthful energy? I was nearly thirty, not sixteen. I maintained my smile while mentally composing a scathing review of her statement earrings.
“I’ve been a subscriber to Modern Wedding since college,” I said instead. “Your layout redesign three years ago was revolutionary.”
“How observant.” Her tone suggested I’d surprised her by forming complete sentences. Great. She was as much of a bitch as Hudson’s mother. “The constellation mapping you designed is incredible, Hudson. And the emotional storytelling approach is exactly what our readers are craving,” she continued, turning fully towards him. “The way you’ve integrated the couple’s narrative throughout the design elements. Well, it’s remarkably cohesive.”
My constellation mapping idea. My emotional storytelling approach. The one Hudson had initially called “unnecessarily sentimental” during one of our first planning sessions.
Again, I waited for him to correct her, to mention that this had been my concept from the beginning. The silence stretched. Why did it look like Hudson was accepting the praise with a modest nod? What. The. Hell.
“And those custom digital elements,” Mrs. Trolio continued, gesturing to the QR-coded signs around the room for people to submit photos to the couples digital photo album, or the one by the DJ set up where people could request songs, all of which I’d painstakingly designed. “So innovative.”
Another of my ideas. One Hudson had initially questioned as “potentially tacky.”
This was fine. He was just being gracious, accepting compliments in the moment. He’d redirect the credit eventually.
“Well,” I jumped in, “we wanted to create something that balanced tradition with personal touches. The digital integration was a way to?—”
“Hudson,” Mrs. Trolio cut me off as if I hadn’t spoken, “about that proposal you sent. It’s extraordinary. A planning application that democratizes the process while maintaining luxury standards? The board is extremely impressed.”
The room tilted. My proposal? My app?
“Hudson?” The room swallowed my voice. God, I couldn’t breathe.
“When did you have time to put together such a comprehensive business plan?” she asked him. “It’s remarkably thorough for someone with your schedule.”
Business plan? I hadn’t even shown Hudson my business plan. I’d mentioned only the general concept to him. Maybe it wasn’t the same. Maybe he’d come up with an idea that looked and smelled and tasted and sounded and felt exactly like mine.
“I’ve been developing the concept for some time,” Hudson replied, not meeting my eyes. “It’s been a... personal passion project.”
The empty champagne flute nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. I’d used those exact words—“passion project”—when describing my app to him.
